


Peter Parker Has A Gun

by Alicia_Borealis



Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Depressed Peter Parker, Gen, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:02:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25981039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alicia_Borealis/pseuds/Alicia_Borealis
Summary: Peter Parker has a gun, not Spider-Man. Tonight it's Peter Parker with a gun and he's wondering if he's going to pull the trigger as he looks down the barrel. Here Peter Parker sits, streetlights and moonlight and the ghostly blue glow of his phone lighting up the barrel of a gun – safety off.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 29
Kudos: 335





	Peter Parker Has A Gun

**Author's Note:**

> This obviously has some triggering stuff so please, please move on if it is going to hurt your mental health.
> 
> I wrote this in a need to vent, but am feeling a lot better but decided to clean it up and put it out there.

Peter Parker has a gun. It is shiny and cold and heavier than he thought it would be. It’s loaded, he checked.

It’s odd being Peter Parker with a gun, Spider-Man has disarmed people in the past, but this was him, just plain old Peter Parker and he had a gun. He’s sitting on the top of his apartment building wondering what would happen if he pulled the trigger.

He’s not suicidal, he really isn’t, not like how they show you in the movies with the crying and the dramatic music and the desperate search for life’s meaning or any of that. Peter couldn’t tell you when the idea started, if it was when he came up here, if it was when he got the gun or if it was long, long before that. Either way he’s sitting here now, phone open to messages. He doesn’t know if he’s going to call for help or to leave a note yet, or if he’s going to call anyone at all.

Here Peter Parker sits, streetlights and moonlight and the ghostly blue glow of his phone lighting up the barrel of a gun – safety off.

* * *

Peter had had a shit week, he’d had a shit year, honestly, he’d had a shit life. Parent’s killed in a plane crash – age 4. Raped by his babysitter – age 9. Had the worst illness of his life and gained superpowers at the end of it – age 13. Lost his Uncle – age 14. Became Spider-Man and faced this worst of humanity most nights – age 14 to present. Had a building dropped on him along with a whole load of trauma he wasn’t ready for – age 16. Looked down the barrel of a gun – age 17. That was just the highlights reel, he had all the other stuff regular kids get – bullying, struggling to pay the bills, horrific nightmares he can’t even scream in – you know: the usual.

Peter Parker’s week had gone like most, a few quizzes and homework, Decathlon practice on Tuesday, Lego night on Thursday with Ned, internship nights on Wednesdays and Fridays. It wasn’t really a bad week, Flash had been a bit harsher than usual and his grades had slipped a bit, but they had been slipping for a while – ever since the nightmares started. He patrolled every day, in the mornings, afternoons or evenings depending on what else was happening. He’d really like to say something happened on patrol to trigger this, but it was normal, nothing showy, nothing fancy, no hurt kids like him, no preventable deaths. Honestly the most dramatic thing to happen on patrol this week was what gave him this gun.

It had been a standard mugging, standard Spider-Man, he webbed the mugger to the wall, gave the victim their stuff back. Normally he webs the weapon away from the criminal as well, but tonight it ended up in his hand, tonight he heard sirens earlier than usual, tonight he decided he didn’t want to deal with cops that might want to put him away and swung away. Tonight Peter was back in his room in his sweats and an old shirt before he realised that the thing he had chucked on his bed as he came in was a loaded gun.

Peter freaked out first, of course he did. He needed to get it out the apartment first, away from May, that was priority one, so he took it to the fire-escape. Next choice: up or down. Peter was always more inclined to go up, so he did. That’s how we got here, Peter Parker in old grey sweatpants and a faded blue t-shirt, with a loaded gun that was not pointed away from him.

Peter spent a long time just studying the gun, not touching anything just seeing all the little details – there was a scratch stretching halfway along the barrel and what looked like a paint stain on the base where your hand goes. Then he started taking it apart in his mind – an engineer’s mind at work – abruptly he realised he hadn’t put the safety on, he hadn’t taken the bullets out and he was staring down the barrel of a loaded gun. He could have killed himself!

He could have killed himself… he could kill himself?

It was a simple sentence, a simple realisation, but honestly not one he’d ever thought before. He could. He could just squeeze one finger and he’d be dead. No more messy life; no more Spider-Man; no more Flash; no more school; no more nightmares. It should scare him, he should be putting the gun down and going inside, he should be scared, but he wasn’t. He could make it stop, there wouldn’t be consequences, he wouldn’t feel bad he would just stop. He could stop trying.

Peter contemplated that set of facts for a long time, contemplated the gun too before a short buzz broke him out of it. He was a teenager of course he had his phone with him, on the screen was a message. It wasn’t even for him, it was the AcaDec chat, someone asking who had the chem flashcards for a study session tomorrow.

That’s how we got here: a messages list, moonlight, streetlights, the barrel of a silver gun and a scared teen that really wasn’t scared at all.

His finger hovered over the call button for Ned, then the message button for MJ, he looked over the stairs for May, and then the message button again for Mr Stark. This was what you are supposed to do right? You leave a note or call for help, you say why, give a reasoning, ask for a why, ask for a reason to stay. He couldn’t kill himself and just wait for them to find him, it would be unfair, but he didn’t want to send a note – he couldn’t articulate why he wanted to do this now he knew it was an option – he also didn’t want help – he’d found his own way out.

That’s why he texted Mr Stark.

“Hey, what are you doing?” Simple, nothing that would make him guilty later and if he decided not to do this, it wouldn’t be weird. He wasn’t expecting a reply, but less than a minute later a short buzz came.

“Working on a stupid nanotech problem. Could I actually pick your brains for a minute? I’ll call you, I need an outside perspective.” What?

…Call Incoming – Mr Stark…

The call went through, Mr Stark’s always do, something to do with Friday’s systems.

“Peter! I’m so glad you texted, I just need another mind on this. I have a glitch in the coding, I can get the nanites to fit in the housing and then make the armour, but they won’t then retract. God, it’s frustrating, any ideas?”

“What?”

“I said any ideas kid? To get the nanites back in the housing.”

“Why?”

“So I can get out of the armour again? You’re sounding a bit out of it Pete, is something wrong?”

Peter didn’t know, something was wrong, right? He wanted to kill himself, he had a gun, something was wrong, but it didn’t feel wrong.

“Oh shit, I just realised the time, why aren’t you sleeping right now?” Mr Stark’s music had been muted, he must be worried. “Pete, say something you’re freaking me out

“I don’t know.”

“What don’t you know?”

“If something’s wrong.”

“Ok.. ok, are you injured?”

Peter took stock, he had a few bruises and minor scrapes but nothing worth telling Mr Stark about, they’d be gone when he woke up tomorrow, if he woke up tomorrow.

“I’m not injured.”

“Ok, then why did you text? What are you doing Pete?”

“I’m sitting on a roof, my roof… It’s cold - that’s not bad, it just is – and I have a gun. I have a gun.”

Peter feels like the rest – I could kill myself, I’m probably going to – is the next logical step, nothing worrying, nothing that isn’t obvious, so he doesn’t mention it.

“A gun, you have a gun and you’re on your roof. You’re not in your suit Petey, why do you have a gun?”

“There was a mugging…” Peter trailed off and then realised Mr Stark was still waiting for an explanation. “I just sort of ended up with it and now I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do?”

“I can take the gun, that way the cops won’t do anything if that’s what you’re worried about kid.” Mr Stark was worried about the wrong things. Somewhere in Peter a voice was starting to scream, it was very far away but it was yelling at Mr Stark to notice, to ask the right questions.

“Why would you take the gun?”

“Why would you keep it?” Mr Stark’s voice was shaking a little now, he was worried, he didn’t know what about or why. Maybe Mr Stark had a little screaming voice too.

“I, umm…” Peter noticed there was tears rolling down his face now, they were silent but fat. He doesn’t know if there his or if they’re from the screaming voice in his head, wait was the screaming voice him?

“Pete you’re starting to scare me here and I don’t even know what I’m scared of. I’m getting in my suit and I’ll be there in 10 minutes.”

“10 minutes.”

“Yeah, not too long huh?”

“I have 10 minutes.” Then the tears weren’t silent. Peter knew he had to decide, had to do this before Mr Stark arrived.

“Pete, Petey why are you crying what’s going on?” Distantly Peter heard Tony telling FRIDAY to divert power to the thrusters.

“Ok it’s probably 5 minutes now Peter.” Mr Stark never called him Peter.

“You can’t.”

“What?”

“You can’t stop me, I have 5 minutes, I could do it. I could make it stop.” The voice in Peter (the one Peter was starting to think was his) started sobbing louder at the last sentence and the wonder that had started to creep into it.

“Stop what?” The shaking in Mr Stark’s voice was getting worse as the worry and confusion mounted.

“Stop it all, everything, all the people, all the noises, school and Spider-Man and…”

“Wha- God, no, no, no!” Mr Stark never stutters, and Peter had never heard him sound this scared. “Peter please, Peter I’m begging you, don’t.” Mr Stark had tears in his voice too now. Peter’s screaming voice seemed pleased he understood, begged him to get there quick enough.

“I could though, I could just end it. Why not?” It was a rhetorical question, a question he didn’t want to ask, he didn’t want to know “Why not?” it would stop him.

“Why not? Peter there is so much to live for. Your Aunt, your friends, me. We love you. Spider-Man. The people you help. The people you will help. The good thing’s you’ll do when you’re inventing beautiful new things. So much, you have so much to live for.” Tony continued on listing things he knew Peter liked, reasons to stay – they ranged from the new Star Wars movie coming out to falling in love to the people he would leave behind, but Peter could hear the repulsors now, he had maybe less than a minute.

He turned the gun towards himself.

Took the safety off.

Put his finger on the trigger.

The repulsors got louder. So did the screaming in his head. He wanted it to stop.

He pulled the trigger.

Iron-Man broke his wrist.

Iron-Man had broken his wrist. Tony Stark had knocked the gun out his hands, squeezed the barrel so it couldn’t shoot, he’d broken his wrist wrenching it out his hands. He was in pain, he was in so much pain. He was alive.

Peter broke. The voice that had been screaming broke through now. He was sobbing, in relief, disappointment, shock. He was alive and sobbing and Mr Stark was stepping out the suit, giving FRIDAY commands he didn’t understand and wrapping Peter in a hug.

**Author's Note:**

> If you're feeling like this please, please reach out to someone, family, a friend, a teacher/professor. Here's a link for international hotlines: http://www.suicide.org/international-suicide-hotlines.html


End file.
